A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 116
Chapter 116: It’s Unpleasant Seeing Others Die
“It’s about how to grip a sword.”
The third-rate mercenary in Enkrid’s village didn’t even know how to properly hold a sword. It was the first thing he learned from his first instructor.
How to press the blade with his thumb while gripping it. How to position his right hand in front, his left hand behind on the grip.
From gripping the pommel to using the ricasso. He usually wielded the sword with both hands, but—
‘I can do it with one hand, too.’
It seemed possible.
With the skills honed through the Isolation Technique, his strength had increased. He tried swinging the longsword with just his left hand.
Whoosh.
The sword he swung traced a circle through the air. It didn’t quite satisfy him.
However, it was possible. He continued with thrusts, slashes, thrusting and slashing. Slashing diagonally, then horizontally.
He even tried mimicking a bind.
He envisioned an opponent in his mind but realized that he probably couldn’t last even a single exchange against Rem or the squad members.
It wasn’t a problem with one-handed swordsmanship—it was the unfamiliarity of using his left hand.
He changed the opponent. Faceless, but decently skilled with a sword. As he imagined further, opponents resembling his past self appeared.
Even the trash he had encountered during his mercenary days, whose skill level had no correlation with their character, started to appear. One of those was a guy who shot his thin sword like an arrow.
He visualized the opponent and swung his sword.
Thwack.
He swung his sword broadly while scraping the ground with his foot. Sweat dripped down, scattering in every direction with a splatter.
Pebbles caught under his foot leaped up with a snap. Reflexively, Enkrid struck the airborne pebbles with the flat of his sword.
Tink!
Due to the inaccurate strike, one of the pebbles bounced off the tip of his boot.
“If you’re holding it properly, you should be able to cut as you intend.”
The instructor’s words echoed in his mind.
Even cutting down a straw dummy that just stood there wasn’t easy. Still, Enkrid knew how to do that much. Though, it was extremely difficult with his left hand.
‘Nothing goes as I want it to.’
He began anew. The path he had walked with his right hand, he now retraced with his left. It was a process of repeated practice to regain his feel.
What might have been a tedious task to others was not so for Enkrid. On the contrary, he found it exciting.
Retracing the steps he had taken with his right hand using his left, he could see what he had missed before.
At some point, Enkrid closed his eyes. What he saw wasn’t the present, but the past—his former self.
Deeper and deeper.
He recalled and wandered within those memories.
‘What if I had done it that way back then?’
The countless reviews he had done in his mind. Battles, fights, monsters, beasts, humans.
The sword he had wielded against all of them. Sword after sword, blade, hand, and person.
Tripping over his own feet, having his head bashed in. Barely surviving against monsters. Living as if he had two lives.
Enkrid walked forward again.
His intense focus naturally consumed him until he saw nothing beyond himself. But the Beast’s Heart kept him grounded, preventing mistakes born of excitement.
His composure and boldness were among the most valuable weapons he possessed.
They felt like some kind of helper, supplementing his willpower.
He swung his sword again. Repeating the same motions over and over, revisiting what he learned. It felt like he was mastering it twice as fast as he had with his right hand.
Drip.
He was drenched in sweat. The leather strap wrapped around his grip snapped. His strength waned, and as he let his arm fall, the sword tip lightly touched the ground.
He wouldn’t say he had overworked his muscles. But he certainly felt the strain of using muscles he wasn’t used to. His left arm tingled slightly.
“You really are a madman.”
Enkrid’s vacant gaze refocused at the voice that came from the side.
“Haven’t you been to the battlefield?”
Enkrid regained his focus and tilted his head, asking the question.
“Our squad is in charge of guarding the stronghold. Hand it over.”
It was the leader of the 3rd Squad, 2nd Company—Vengeance.
He had sensed his presence for a while but hadn’t paid much attention to it. Vengeance approached, took Enkrid’s sword, and tightened the leather strap around the grip.
He did it with skill, pulling both sides tight, twisting them, and securing them inside the grip.
“I’m just helping you because it looked hard to do with one hand.”
When had Vengeance become so considerate? Was it since Enkrid saved him from the fire?
Curious, Enkrid asked.
“Why did you dislike me?”
Vengeance hesitated, lips twitching, then answered.
“Jenny.”
“Jenny?”
Who was Jenny? Enkrid blinked. His memory wasn’t bad. If he didn’t remember, it meant one of two things—they were either unworthy of remembering or he didn’t know them.
In this case, it was the former. Seeing Enkrid’s puzzled expression, Vengeance raised his voice.
“Herb-seller Jenny!”
Herb-seller Jenny?
Enkrid’s expression remained blank. Vengeance muttered a curse under his breath before shouting.
“I just didn’t like your damn face!”
This guy’s temperament was all over the place. He helped with the sword earlier, and now he was acting like this.
“Anyway, I just don’t like that smug face of yours.”
Growling, Vengeance stood up abruptly.
“Take good care of that sword.”
Worried, despite his apparent dislike?
As Vengeance turned his back and walked away with heavy steps, Enkrid chuckled, propping his chin up with the back of his hand.
“I never cared. It was you who had an interest. My interest was in the herbs.”
There was no way he didn’t remember after he said that much. Enkrid had often visited the city. Sometimes that led to women who claimed to like him just by looking at his face. What could one call this?
It was nothing more than a frontier town maiden’s fantasy, lost in her illusions. When Vengeance mentioned the herb-seller Jenny, Enkrid did recall her.
He had just feigned ignorance to tease Vengeance while they were talking. His reactions were amusing. Rem probably enjoyed teasing the soldiers around him for the same reason.
“Like I care!”
Vengeance yelled back again.
He had a surprisingly cute side.
Not that he was entirely endearing. He was quick-witted, competent, and took good care of his subordinates.
‘As long as he doesn’t run out of luck, he won’t die easily.’
Nyaa.
Just as he was considering finding a stream to wash off his sweat, he heard Esther’s cry.
“Why do you seem so drained? Hungry?”
Purr.
In response to Enkrid’s question, Esther narrowed her eyes, which made her look like she was glaring.
“Are you sick?”
He petted Esther’s fur as he spoke, gently grooming her, and soon Esther began to purr with her eyes closed.
The reason Esther was so tired was simple. She had absorbed the fatigue from Enkrid’s body throughout the night, transferring it into her own.
‘Stubborn human.’
Even while cursing him internally, Esther didn’t actually dislike Enkrid. His relentless drive to improve was similar to her own.
She had ended up like this while exploring the World of Spells but her drive to improve was no less intense than this man’s.
Esther lowered her head, trying to drift into sleep. She was certainly tired.
Today, the mage was taking a break. She had no energy left. Besides, drawing on even a portion of the World of Spells with her current body was always a shortcut.
Beeeeeep!
Just as she was about to doze off.
A sharp sound roused Esther from her slumber. Enkrid’s hand, which had been scratching his head, also froze.
Esther lifted her head to see Enkrid’s chin above her. He turned his head left and right, then stood up.
“Captain!”
Enkrid placed Esther on the ground. From one side, he saw Kraiss sprinting toward him. The sharp sound of a whistle continued.
Beeeeeeep!
It was a long tone.
A sustained note, signaling a warning.
The Naurillia army used a whistle system for signaling. A long, sustained note like this only meant one thing.
An ambush.
“Which direction…?”
Enkrid began to ask Kraiss but fell silent. The moment the whistle blew, the shouts of their allies reached their ears first.
“It’s an ambush! Enemy troops! Enemy troops!”
“Counterattack!”
“Don’t fall back!”
“Goddammit, this is a nightmare!”
A dissonance born of panic and urgency.
Ratatatat!
Amid the chaos, the clash of metal resounded. Blood splattered in an instant.
“Gahhh!”
A scream, like a death wail, mixed into the chaos. Even Enkrid spotted the attackers. Their steps were neither too fast nor too slow.
Clack.
The sound of boots crunching on gravel announced their presence. It felt as if only he existed in a different time, a strange sensation.
The spring rain had stopped, leaving a warm breeze, and the sunlit gravel field retained its warmth.
In that sunlit gravel field, the figure approached.
With broad shoulders, a thin yet sturdy leather armor, and a helmet that covered from the forehead to the head but left the ears exposed, typical of Azpen Principality’s style.
Water dripped from the faded brown hair spilling out of the helmet, forming little puddles on the ground. Two enemy soldiers trailed behind him, skillfully wielding their spears.
Thud.
Thwack! Splat!
Just from watching them parry, strike, and thrust, Enkrid could tell. They were elite soldiers, repeatedly trained and refined.
He had encountered elite soldiers of this level before. The Gray Hounds, a special unit of Azpen known for their tenacity.
A unit perfect for surprise attacks. And they executed it perfectly. They used the traits of their unit to launch a surprise assault.
Leading the unit, the man walked casually until he stood right before Enkrid.
Grrr!
Esther, who had almost fallen asleep, bared her fangs.
“Esther, back off.”
Enkrid shielded Esther with his body as he spoke.
“You’re still alive, I see.”
It was a familiar face. The commander of Azpen, a squad leader of the Gray Hounds. He had been overly eager before and ended up with Enkrid’s sword in his chest.
His name was Mitch Hurrier.
A squad leader from the Azpen Principality.
It seemed he had crossed the river, as his entire body was soaked. It was clear he wasn’t in good condition. They must have run all night to shorten their travel time and launched the ambush after crossing the river.
He must have exhausted himself to get here. But Enkrid’s condition was worse.
‘Will my wrist hold?’
He couldn’t be sure. Mitch Hurrier took a deep breath. He then tilted his head slightly upward, gazing at the sky, and murmured.
“A prayer of thanks.”
Was it a tribute to a deity?
“I’ve been longing to meet you again, Enkrid.”
He lowered his gaze again, continuing to speak.
“It’s an honor that you remember my name, but.”
“Well then.”
Shing.
He drew his sword. The moment Enkrid saw Mitch’s draw, he sensed his own death.
Even if his wrist were fine, this opponent was challenging. The skill he had gained gave him insight into Mitch’s abilities.
“Thanks to you, I woke up.”
Understanding his words wasn’t necessary. Mitch didn’t say it expecting Enkrid to comprehend. It was just words spilling out naturally, born of his joy in the moment.
He had come here to break the enemy’s morale with a surprise attack on the stronghold.
And here he was, facing a prized target.
A foe he had longed to meet.
A foe he had longed to defeat.
Meeting again, he needed to prove himself. He had to defeat this man and move on to the next stage. Mitch Hurrier’s sword moved. A vertical slash from top to bottom.
Thud!
Enkrid switched the sword to his right hand and blocked it.
Crack.
One strike was all it took.
The splint he had secured broke, and strength drained from his right hand.
His wrist throbbed with a dull ache.
His fingers trembled.
“You’re injured.”
Would Mitch show mercy?
Not a chance.
He wouldn’t have done it himself.
Why should it matter whether the opponent was injured or not?
This wasn’t a place for discussing honor; it was war. Even in a duel, he wouldn’t have gone easy. Exploiting a weakness during battle was encouraged.
“Unlucky bastard.”
Mitch gave a bitter smile. He would have preferred a fair fight, but given the circumstances—
Thud.
Enkrid barely parried the incoming blade.
‘I’m going to die.’
At that moment, he realized he couldn’t block the next attack.
“You bastard!”
Vengeance, covered head-to-toe in blood, charged forward, thrusting his spear into Mitch Hurrier’s back.
Thunk!
The tip of the spear was surprisingly sharp.
Without even looking, Mitch Hurrier shifted his footing. Pivoting on his left foot, he spun around, dodging the spear tip, then sliced diagonally with his sword.
Crack!
His blade struck the middle of the spear shaft.
Yet, Vengeance didn’t let go of the spear.
Instead, he tried to strike Mitch’s chest with the spear shaft.
But it was a futile resistance.
As soon as Mitch’s sword struck the shaft, he shifted his stance again. From a half-turned position, he seamlessly transitioned into a full turn, slashing horizontally.
Sching.
Vengeance’ neck was cut.
Sensing danger, Vengeance managed to pull back, but it was too late.
His neck was already half-severed. He dropped the spear and clutched at his neck.
Ah, you fool. You should have just run.
Vengeance collapsed to his knees. Mitch Hurrier, standing beside the fallen Vengeance, looked at Enkrid and spoke,
“I’ll cut your neck the same way.”
Swish!
He finished the job, severing Vengeance’ head completely. The head rolled across the ground.
What was this?
Even knowing that today would repeat after death.
It felt like utter shit.
It was miserable. It was fucking awful.
Roar.
The blue-eyed panther watching nearby tried to leap forward. But a soldier wielding a spear blocked her.
“A mere beast.”
The soldier muttered as he held back Esther. If she didn’t retreat, she would die soon, too.
“Go, Esther.”
Enkrid spoke, and Mitch Hurrier, who had approached without him noticing, raised his sword high. Mitch Hurrier was a liar. He said he’d cut off Enkrid’s neck, but instead, he drove his sword through Enkrid’s chest.
“It’s here that you got me last time.”
His tone was casual. His sword pierced through Enkrid’s heart. There was no chance to reach for the remaining Whistle Dagger.
With his wrist in this state, it was impossible.
“Though it’s a pity we didn’t get to fight properly, farewell.”
As he spoke, Mitch Hurrier pulled his sword out of Enkrid’s chest.
Schluk. Grind.
Blood surged out of the wound, pouring onto the ground.
Gurgle.
With blood foaming from his mouth, Enkrid collapsed forward, his gaze catching sight of Vengeance’ severed head and Esther, who had been flung aside.
Hiss!
‘This feels like…’
It was awful.
Strange, really. Seeing others die felt worse than dying himself. The moment of death came again. He had experienced it so many times, it should have been familiar by now.
But instead of familiarity, it brought pain, agony, and a darkness that etched fear deep into his mind. Even knowing he’d wake up again to face another morning—
There was a darkness that made him not want to die. No dreams came to him. Thus, there was no ferryman to greet him.
Enkrid opened his eyes once more.
Nyaa.
Esther rubbed her face against his chest. It was the start of another morning without the squad members.
And then—
‘It’s so fucking ridiculous.’
Enkrid genuinely thought the situation was shit.
His right wrist was shot and his squad members were gone. By afternoon, elite enemy forces would attack the stronghold. Among them was that bastard, Mitch Hurrier.
‘Running away won’t solve anything.’
It wouldn’t. Even if he survived, he would only return to the same day. He couldn’t escape today without overcoming the wall before him.
So how should he overcome it?
Enkrid’s gaze dropped. He looked down at Esther, who was rubbing her face against his chest. To be precise, he focused on his left hand, which was stroking Esther’s fur.